


Spell Slave

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spitroasting, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was selling himself long before he became a bitch in heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spell Slave

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Stanford years. Went commando again. Hope the mistakes aren’t too terrible.

There was a knock at the motel room door, and John pushed himself from the cheap plastic chair to go answer it. He didn’t hesitate as his fingers wrapped around the brass knob worn to glassy smoothness by hundreds of grasping hands. The paint around it was chipped and filthy, and the carpet at his feet was worn thin and colored with the grime of countless feet. He swung the door open and stepped back.

“Charlie,” he said to the man at the door. Charlie was about his own age, but thin and wiry. He sported a NASCAR cap and thick, dark mustache. He wore scuffed cowboy boots, faded jeans and gray work shirt. Everything about him was worn but clean as though he was on a date.

“John,” the man said and stepped inside. “Been awhile.”

The sound of idling diesel engines drifted in the open doorway, and John glanced outside. He saw the running lights of two tractor-trailers in the parking lot and another three lined up along the highway. He closed the door.

“How ya been?” Charlie asked as he handed John a roll of bills.

“Good, you?” John asked as he flattened the money and thumbed through it. There were a couple fifties and the rest in twenties.

“Fine, fine,” Charlie said. At John’s nod, he turned to where the slave bitch knelt beside the bed. The wide leather collar stood out against the pale freckled skin. He wore nothing else. A six-foot length of chain ran from the collar to the metal frame of the bed. It wasn’t strictly necessary, not anymore.

As Charlie unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper, the bitch’s green eyes brightened. His focus was like a laser, and when the trucker pulled his cock out, drool welled on the the bitch’s plump lower lip and a thin line of it slipped down his chin.

John sat down and took a pull from the whiskey bottle beside him. He was sure that what he saw revealed some essential part of his son. Strip away the inhibition, shame and guilt, and this was Dean – on his knees, drooling to suck a near stranger’s cock.

“Hey, bitch,” Charlie said. “You hungry?”

Bitch whined low in his throat and shuffled forward on his knees. Charlie spit into his hand and began to stroke his half-hard cock. The slave nuzzled against Charlie’s crotch and began to lick his balls with the flat of his tongue. Charlie was a regular, and this was how it always started.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Charlie said. “Wash ‘em nice and clean. Such a good bitch. You like that, huh?”

The slave whined in response. His hard cock bobbed between his legs. A bead of precome glistened at the slit.  The squelch and slap of Charlie beating off and Bitch’s lapping filled the room interspersed with the slave’s whimpers.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , John thought as he took another drink of whiskey. It wasn’t like he should have been surprised to discover that Dean was selling himself. He knew that Dean was a bit of a whore even as a teen, but he’d thought it was just with girls for pleasure. He knew that sometimes he’d been on hunting trips longer than planned and the boys ran low on funds. He hadn’t thought much about it. Dean was resourceful. The boys got by.

Dean was 16 when John heard through the grapevine about the pretty boy with green eyes who put out for truckers, hunters, traveling salesman. He couldn’t imagine that it could be his son, but somehow he knew it was. A few months later he’d returned from a hunt early and found Dean like this on his knees but in the parking lot of the motel moaning around the cock of some guy in a cheap suit. When the guy told John to wait his turn, he’d wanted to beat the asshole, but he knew he wouldn’t stop until the man was dead. Worse than that, Dean would know that he knew. He couldn’t do that to his son. Dean hadn’t seen him, so John had gone off and drunk himself into the worst hangover of his life. He didn’t return to his sons for three days, and then he acted like nothing had happened.

“Okay, turn around here, bitch,” Charlie said. The slave obeyed like the good dog he always was for Charlie, and John could see how shiny the crease of his ass was. “You ready for it?” Charlie asked. “Huh? Like a bitch in heat, aren’t ya?”

Bitch whined and spread his knees farther, and Charlie knelt behind him.

“Yeah, beggin’ for it,” Charlie said. “Need to be bred, huh?”

The slave, bitch, whore, whatever wiggled his ass, and John looked away in disgust. After all this time, it still surprised him how revulsion and shame still twisted up in him at times. Usually with enough whiskey, he could convince himself that this wasn’t Dean on his knees. Hell, Dean wouldn’t even remember this night or any of the others. Sure, he’d know something happened. He’d remember getting ready to go out; then he’d wake up with a sore ass and jaw and think that he’d drank till he blacked out and hooked up with someone or more than one someone. That wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility after all.

It didn’t take Charlie long before his hips stuttered and he spilled the first load of the night into the slave’s ass. He pulled out with a sigh. Bitch’s cock still hung hard beneath him and he whined.

“Don’t worry, bitch,” Charlie said and patted the slave’s hip. “You ain’t done gettin’ bred. Not by a long shot.” He stood, tucked his cock into his jeans, and zipped up. He nodded at John. “Next time.”

“You bet,” John said.

The slave was still on his knees with his ass in the air. His hole twitched open and a rivulet of white trickled out. John picked up a wad of fast food napkins and stood. He wiped the come from the slave’s crack.

“Kneel up here,” John said. “Come on, Bitch.”

The slave growled low in his throat. It was brief and cut off, but John slapped him on the ass for it anyway.

“You heard me,” John said. “Obey.”

Bitch pushed himself up and turned around. He settled back on his heels.

“That’s better,” John said. “You gonna do what you’re told?”

Bitch sat there staring at the floor.

“Hey!” John said sharply. “Look at me!”

Bitch’s head didn’t move, but he looked up through his lashes.

“Are you going to do was you’re told?”

Bitch didn’t respond.

“Speak,” John said through gritted teeth.

He saw the slave’s Adam’s apple bob as he thought about.

“Bitch,” John said in warning.

The slave’s head rose slightly and he barked.

“Is that a yes?” John asked.

Bitch barked and then again.

“Good boy,” John said. He ruffled the slave’s hair.

John had been surprised when the spell took Dean’s ability to speak. He shouldn’t have been since it essentially stripped him of any human traits. No more than an hour earlier, Dean had the keys to the Impala in his hand and was wearing that bad boy façade. He said he was going to go have a couple beers, maybe hook up with a girl, and then John had said, “heel.” The façade had fallen away. The keys fell back onto the table, Dean kicked off his boots, stripped out of his clothes, and went to his knees waiting for John to collar him.

That part had taken some training – the part between heel and obediently waiting on his knees. The collar and chain had been necessary at first but not anymore. Now that Bitch knew what was expected of him and what he had to anticipate, he accepted the collar willing.

There was a knock at the door, and John went to answer it. The guy was younger – early 30s maybe. He was on the short side, but lean and muscular. His eyes were small and set close together. That combined with his square jaw gave him the look of a pit bull.

“Zane?” John said.

“Yeah,” the guy said.

“You know the rules? I don’t leave the room, so hope you don’t mind an audience. Money up front. He likes it rough, but no blood, no closed fists. If I say stop, you stop. Got it?”

He’d been glancing at Bitch and shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah,” he said. “Got it.” He thrust the money at John and turned toward the slave. “Fuck,” Zane murmured. “Heard all about you.”

John eased himself back in his chair and drank from the whiskey bottle. In the years since John first heard about the pretty, green-eyed kid who whored himself out, Dean had become a kind of legend. Like most legends, the stories rarely jibed. He was described as everything from a fucked out drug addicted slut to a sort of circus freak – part canine bitch and part beautiful young guy. Who knew what Zane thought as he dropped to his knees?

“Suck it,” he said.

Bitch didn’t need to be told twice. He was already swallowing Zane’s cock with such obscene sounds that even John’s dick twitched.

“Jesus,” Zane said. “So good, but you gotta stop.” He pulled his cock from Dean’s lips. “I paid for that ass, and I’m gonna have it.”

The slave was, of course, on board with that. He spun around and presented like a dog in heat. Zane didn’t waste time thrusting into him, knocking a grunt from the slave that quickly turned to moans.

John would never forget the first time as he sat there watching someone fuck his son. John had explained to the guy that Dean was into something new, role playing, puppy play. The guy had agreed to go along with it since he liked the green-eyed whore. John had drunk half a fifth of whiskey as the slave whined and moaned, fisted the sheets and thrust back on the guy’s dick. And he came. Bitch climaxed without a touch to his cock.

When the guy left, John went into the bathroom and vomited all that whiskey into the toilet. He’d splashed cold water on his face and returned to the room where the slave waited ass-up for another cock. Much as it sickened him, he’d resolutely stayed with every customer for his son’s safety. It had been one thing to be alone with customers before, but now, under the spell that left him so vulnerable and without even the faculties to speak, he needed protection.

Zane had the chain wrapped around his fist, and he was pulling Bitch back onto his cock with each thrust. Bitch’s neck was arched, and he was gasping as Zane pounded into him. John was just about to tell the pit bull to let up, when Bitch let out a strangled cry. His cock jerked and come splattered across the dingy carpet.

“Fuck!” Zane cried out. He bowed forward and rutted into the slave’s hole. He dropped the chain, and his hand went flat on Bitch’s back. “Holy fuck, ugh, holy mother fucking fuck.” He let his cock slip free and pulled the slave’s crease open with his thumbs. “Look at that,” he murmured to no one. One thumb pushed into the slave’s ass and he rolled his hips. “Jesus,” Zane said. “Slutty hole.”

Zane staggered to his feet and fixed his clothes. “Quality product,” he said as he slipped out.

John wasn’t sure whether he should say thanks or punch the kid. He took another drink and waited. Bitch didn’t move for a few minutes, not until his breathing even out again. Then, he pushed himself up, turned and knelt back.

“Always ready for more, huh?” John said.

Bitch didn’t respond. He just sat with his lashes lowered.

“Hey!” John said. “Ready for more cock?”

Bitch looked up then and barked.

“Yeah, thought so,” John said. The slave’s cock might be soft and his balls empty, but that didn’t mean that he was done. “Your cunt feelin’ empty? Need some meat to fill it?”

Bitch licked his lips and wiggled his ass.

“Yeah, I know,” John said wearily. “The heat just won’t let up. Your bitch hole’s all wet and needy.”

Bitch barked and barked again. John sometimes wondered how a stud dog would react to Dean like this. He was pretty sure that the slave would present for the dog. There was a knock at the door.

“ _Paying_ customers,” John said pointedly at his panting son.

There were two men at the door. Regulars. Ronnie and Ricky Johnson. Unmarried brothers who lived alone on a farm just outside town. They both wore bib overalls and dark t-shirts. Ricky wore a DeKalb seed cap, and Ronnie’s cap had a Monsanto logo with the FUCK written above it in marker. They both smelled slightly of manure and sweat, but the bitch didn’t mind that kind of odor. Dogs never do, he thought.

“Hey, John,” Ronnie said. “Is our little brooding bitch in season?”

“Always,” John said. “You know that.”

“Hey, bitch,” Ricky said. “Your favorite studs are here to breed you.”

Ronnie paid John, and by the time John had the money counted, Ricky had his cock pulled through the fly of his bibs and was waving in front of Dean who followed the motion with his mouth.

“Dude, don’t tease the bitch,” Ronnie said as he lowered the zipper on his fly. “It ain’t nice, and mama taught you better.”

Ricky chuckled. “Nice bitch, ain’t ya? Yeah, you want some juicy sausage?”

The bitch was drooling again, chin shiny wet with spit.

“Get him up on his feet,” Ricky said.

Ronnie bent over and grabbed the bitch’s hips and lifted him to his feet but kept him bent over. The guy could probably lift a calf. The Johnson brothers were both big guys with hair bleached almost white from the sun and ruddy skin.

The bitch’s mouth was wide like a baby bird’s, tongue extended to catch the line of precome that oozed from the slit. he made an ‘ah’ sound like a doctor was looking at his throat, and when Ricky slipped the head of his cock into Bitch’s mouth, he made a satisfied hum his throat.

Ronnie lined up behind the slave and shoved inside. “Ah, yeah,” he said. “Sweet heat.”

The brothers set up a natural rhythm, bouncing Bitch back and forth like a rubber ball between bear cubs at the zoo. It was rough and playful, punctuated by growls and snorts of pleasure.  
Most customers arrived solo. There were always the odd groups of local teen boys, pairs like Ricky and Ronnie and on one occasion a biker club. John had enforced order that time with a sawed-off shotgun over his knee. Still, Dean had barely been able to move without wincing the next day, and he’d sat in the passenger seat of the Impala with a bewildered expression just gazing out the window. He’d been covered in bruises for weeks. They’d made a lot of money that night, but John knew where to draw the line.

Ronnie’s fingers were digging into the slave’s hips, and Ricky’s were fisted in his short hair. Bitch moaned and gagged. Spit and precome dripped from his chin. His cock was still soft, but John knew from experience that didn’t prevent his bitch son from coming on a man’s cock. Just about then the slave’s back arched and he slammed his hips back against Ronnie as he shook. Fluid ran from his limp cock. It pumped out with each thrust of Ronnie’s hips.

“Jesus,” John muttered and looked away. He shifted uncomfortably and took a swig off the bottle.

“Ugh!” Ricky exclaimed as he climaxed. He held Dean’s head as he spilled straight down the bitch’s throat.

“Yeah!” Ronnie followed. He pushed into Bitch’s channel as far as he could and held Bitch tight against him. “Yeah.” He sighed. “Mm, breed you up good, huh?”

The slave whined and squirmed. The brothers high-fived over Bitch’s back while pumping their seed into him at both ends

“Feel that?” Ronnie asked. He caressed Bitch’s belly. “Feel it in there all hot and slick and breeding you up?”

A full body shudder ran through the slave.

When Ricky slipped his cock from Bitch’s throat, the bitch kept his lips sealed around it to prevent a drop of come from being lost. Ronnie gave the bitch a pat on the rump as he withdrew. Ronnie eased the bitch back to its knees, and the brothers tucked their cocks in and zipped up.

“That’s one fine piece of animal flesh you got there,” Ricky said with a grin as they left.

The slave was kind of a mess – sticky and flushed and sweaty. He seemed a bit shaky as well. He got like that after a few fucks, but that didn’t mean he was done. John knew Bitch just needed a few minutes, and he’d be ready for more. Sure enough, by the time the next guy knocked, the slave was back on his knees waiting.

The customer was a young guy named Jeremy. There was nothing remarkable about him – tall, slim, dark hair and eyes. He wore jeans, sneakers and a hoodie with the local community college logo on the back.

John told him the rules, and the kid gave him the minimum. All he could afford was a blowjob, he’d said morosely. John sat at the table and counted the growing roll of money he’d collected. The kid shoved his jeans down to his knees and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t need to beckon Bitch forward. It was over in moments. John figured it was hardly worth the kid’s money, but Bitch held the guy’s cock deep in his throat and milked it till the kid looked faint.

When he caught his breath, the kid stroked the slave’s sweat damp hair and gazed down at him. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured like Bitch was something precious and not a whore. John felt an inexplicable anger rise in his chest, and he got to his feet.

“Customers are waiting,” he said.

Jeremy looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, right.”

Bich sat back on his heels, which gave Jeremy room to stand. He was fixing his clothes as he made his way to the door. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he let himself out.

The two guys were truckers who just wanted to breed the bitch quick and rough. Bitch had come dry and keening on the second one. An insurance salesman sprang for a blowjob. “Cheap bastard,” John said as he left.

“One more for the night. You got it in ya?” he asked Bitch.

The slave’s lips were puffy and red. No doubt his cunt was too, John thought. Mottled bruises were coming up on his hips and upper arms, but he wagged his hips like it was the first customer.

“What’s that word?” John asked. “Insatiable? Yeah.” He shook his head and went to the door at the first knock.

The guy was more ordinary than Jeremy, if that was possible. Mark was a consultant of some kind, he’d said on the phone. He wore khakis and a blue polo shirt. He was probably in his mid-40s, wife, kids, dog ... John took his money and sat down. As Mark lowered his fly and approached the slave, John leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

John wouldn’t remember what made him snap awake. Maybe it was Bitch’s hoarse breathing or the slap of Mark’s skin against the slave’s ass, but what he saw brought him out of seat. Mark had Bitch bent in half on his back. His fingers were wrapped around the slave’s throat below the collar as he pounded into him. The slave’s face was flushed dark with blood and despite the rasping breathes he pulled in, he wasn’t fighting.

This was why John never left him alone with clients. “God dammit!” John cursed as he moved toward them.

That’s when Bitch’s body went stiff with his orgasm. He nearly bucked Mark off him, but the man hung on tight as his own orgasm was ripped from him. Bitch went limp, and Mark’s twitching cock slipped from his gaping hole. John grabbed Mark and shoved him to the floor.

“Get out!” he bellowed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bitch roll to his side. At least he was conscious.

“Hey!” Mark yelled. “I paid ...”

The gun was in John’s hand as naturally as he’d make a fist. He pointed it at the naked man on the floor.

“Get out,” John said quietly. “Don’t take time to get dressed. Just grab ‘em and go.”

“You wouldn’t ...”

“Try me,” John said. “Wouldn’t be the first time I killed a man.”

Mark scrabbled to his feet, grabbed his clothes and ran out the door. John turned to the slave who was struggling to his knees. He shook his head.

“It’s okay, bitch,” he said. “That was the last one. Get what you needed?”

Bitch nodded and drew in rasping breathes.

“Good,” John said and dropped into the chair. He turned the lamp out with a sigh. The slave knelt there with just the light that spilled from the bathroom doorway tracing the curve of his back. John lowered his fly. “Come here.”

He watched the stretch and bunch of muscle under skin and roll of hips as bitch crawl across the room and between his spread knees. He let his head tip back against the wall again as his cock was engulfed in wet heat. He didn’t think. He let the sensations overtake him. The slick, firm muscle teasing the slit and glans, clutching throat encompassing the head and soft lips stroking the shaft. While the whiskey might have slowed his arousal, the previous hours of live porn had balanced it out. His balls were heavy and soon pulling up as the tension wound tighter and snapped.

He held his hand on the back of Bitch’s head as his hips lifted off the seat. He didn’t need to, of course. The slave never let a cock escape his hunger as long as it was pumping jizz. Bitch’s throat worked around John’s cock.

“Oh fucking hell,” John said as the waves of pleasure subsided. “Mm, my good bitch.” He petted the slave’s head as Bitch licked at his wilting cock and then his balls.

John sighed. “Okay, into bed.” Bitch crawled back across the room and into bed. “Good boy. Go to sleep.”

John got up and pulled Dean’s wallet from his jeans pocket. He put a few bills in it and replaced it. He set Dean’s boots beside his bed and dumped his clothing there as though he’d stripped out of it before getting into bed.

In the dim light, he could almost see two boys curled around each other in sleep. He swiped at his eyes and went into the bathroom to clean up.

~~~

When Dean awoke, the first light of day was angling in between the heavy drapes. He could make out the hulk of his father’s body in the other bed. The familiar deep snores of a whiskey drunk came from the man.

Dean rolled over and had to suppress a groan. He hurt everywhere. His ass and throat felt battered and the bitterness of come clung to the back of his tongue. He didn’t have to look to know that bruises bloomed across his body. The smell of sweat and sex clung to him. This was familiar and bewildering.

The blank nights had started a couple years earlier. He could almost pinpoint when. It hadn’t been more than a night or two after that run in with a witch in Pierpoint, Mississippi. He remembered waking like this, dirty and fucked out, in the heavy Southern heat. It had been harder then – like waking from a nightmare. Now, it was a familiar kind of apprehension and confusion.

No matter how often it happened, his mind struggled to put together what had happened. He remembered going out the night before. No, he remembered planning to go out. He’d had his keys in his hand, and he told his dad where he was going. After that was a blank. He looked back at the figure in the other bed.

Dean had tried to get information out of his dad without really asking on a couple of occasions. John had just given him a wink. “No clue where you went, son,” John had said. “But by the looks of you, she must have been a tigress.”

Dean curled on his side. He needed to use the toilet, but his ass felt like he’d given it up for a football team. He knew that he’d be shitting jizz and a lot of it. He also knew that there’d be money in his wallet that wasn’t there yesterday. He didn’t fool himself about what he did those nights. He just didn’t remember.

Maybe he should feel shame or regret, but he didn’t feel anything. He was dead inside. He stretched his arm out across the cool, empty side of the bed. For a moment his eyes stung. Something beat in his chest, but it wasn’t his heart. That was in California.

He pushed himself up out of bed and staggered toward the bathroom. His legs felt like he’d run a marathon, and he snagged the whiskey bottle from the table. He figured there was more than one way to forget.

 

-30-


End file.
